


master of none

by lacheses



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-07-26 00:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7552378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacheses/pseuds/lacheses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec invites Magnus on a patrol; things start to spiral from there.<br/> </p><div class="center">
  <p> ∞ </p>
</div> <div class="center">
  <p>A series of prompt fills centering around Magnus Bane and Alec Lightwood. </p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> There are slight descriptions of blood/injury so please be cautious. This was a prompt fill for [joanwtsn](http://joanwtsn.tumblr.com), who wanted bamf! magnus (who doesn't?) and hurt!alec.

"You always want to be forgiven / The devil does what you ask of him."

Beach House

.

Alec wakes up from his impromptu nap to an intense tickling in his nose. He sneezes, loudly, which causes Magnus to roll away from him and cover his head with the blanket. Magnus’ hair, dyed gold this time, causes him to sniffle again. Alec runs his fingers through it, catching on knots more than once.

It’s going to be a good day, he thinks. Magnus’ arm is a dead weight on Alec’s stomach. He uses it to pull Magnus closer, grinning when he starts grumbling into the pillow. He’s drooling a little, which should be gross, but it ends up making his heart do a silly little flip.

His phone rings, unpleasantly, trilling loudly until Alec fumbles on the bedside table to turn it off. Magnus’ grumbling becomes louder, but no more coherent.

“Izzy texted me,” he says, scrolling through the hastily typed messages. “There’s a short patrol she wants me to join.”

“Where?”

“44th avenue,” he says. “Just a couple of Ravenor demons. I should be back within an hour.”

Magnus hums, but Alec doesn’t miss the disappointed look on his face. He’d cleared his entire day to spend it with Alec, and now Alec’s ditching him, _again._

“Maybe,” he starts, watching Magnus’ head snap up. “Maybe you could come with me?”

Magnus’ smile is so bright Alec has to look away for a moment, just so he doesn’t do anything rash like press him into the bed and kiss the smile off his face.

.

“Wait,” Magnus says, hand on his arm, just a few blocks outside the loft. It thrills Alec that they’re doing this, unglamoured. Hands on arms, as if they’ve got to remain in close contact in order to stay afloat.

“Is this your idea of a date?” Magnus is grinning so wide that Alec has to lean his forehead against his.  Magnus’ eyes slip shut, expecting a kiss, but Alec just brushes his lips over the tip of Magnus’ nose. It’s almost disgustingly cute, but it’s something he can do now, instead of guiltily imagining it with some faceless, nameless man.

“If you want it to be.”

“I want,” Magnus tells him, eyes sparkling in a way that has nothing to do with the glitter. Alec kisses him for real this time, smiling when Magnus chases his lips for more.

It’s going to be a good day.

. 

It turns out to be a shit day, actually. They’ve been trawling through 44th avenue for over an hour now, and there’s no Ravenors in sight.

Plus, for some reason, _Simon_ is here, which means Alec’s mood plummets the second he catches sight of the vampire. He literally does not stop talking. His voice is an incessant buzzing in the back of Alec’s head, and even Magnus’ presence isn’t enough to assuage the headache building in his temples.

And now, an abandoned apartment complex has caught Simon and Clary’s attention, and the duo insist on exploring it in order to find the Ravenor demons that have been evading them all evening.

“Why is the vampire here?” he groans, trying to get Isabelle to see reason. Izzy just shrugs, gesturing at Magnus.

“If you can bring your boyfriend, why can’t I bring mine?” She smirks and taps Simon on the shoulder with her whip, making him jump a few metres in the air. His head bumps against the ceiling, which causes plaster and dust to rain down on them. 

“False equivalence!” he says to Isabelle’s retreating form. He didn't even know that Simon was Izzy's boyfriend. Magnus waves his fingers just in time, diverting the falling debris from his and Alec’s heads. He ignores Simon’s muffled apology, instead rolling his eyes at his boyfriend, who definitely shares his annoyance.

“Seriously,” he turns to look at Magnus, who has a bemused smile on his face. “You’re not Simon. You’re way better.”

“You have such a way with words, Alec,” Magnus knocks their shoulders together. “I’m melting.”

Alec grins at him, and Magnus slinks a little closer. Before either of them can do anything, a loud crash distracts them.

“Simon!” Izzy cries out, cracking her whip. The Ravenor demon they’d been looking for has backed Simon to the wall, and Izzy wraps the whip around its neck and yanks it back.

That doesn’t do much except enrage the demon, who whirls around and growls at Isabelle. Alec pushes down the panic growing in his chest, notching an arrow and letting it fly. It hits the Ravenor dead in the chest, and it howls in pain.

Clary acts next, propelled by Magnus’ magic to deliver a precise kick to the demon’s chest. It staggers back, further, pressed against the wall with Alec’s arrow still lodged in its chest. The Ravenor turns around, approaching Simon as he tries to scoot away. Its jaws snap, nearly missing Simon’s neck by a hairsbreadth.

Alec releases another arrow, and then lunges between Simon and the Ravenor. He pushes Simon out of the way, palms flat against his back. The vampire skitters on the floor, and Alec barely has time to look at him before the Ravenor grabs him by the collar and throws him against the wall.

The _concrete_ wall. Alec hits his head, hard, but still hears his ulna snap in two. Pain rockets through him, but Alec’s eyes are fixed on his arm, where his bone has torn through the skin. His seraph is lying too far from him to reach, blade dimmed.

“Alec, get up!” Izzy is all but screaming at him, but he’s landed too heavily on his arm. Getting up would mean moving his arm, and Alec isn’t sure he can do that without passing out. He watches, as his vision starts to blur, the Ravenor’s clawed feet inching towards him.

There’s a moment, then, where Alec can see the demon approaching and his heart skips a beat or two. _This is it_ , he thinks, _I’m going to die and Magnus is going to have to watch me._

But then, he can see blue sparks emanating from Magnus’ fingertips, and the tense line of his legs under his slacks. He sends a blast of magic from his left hand, knocking the demon back a few metres.

Magnus bends his knees, and with a start Alec realizes he’s reaching for his fallen seraph blade. Magnus’ hands close around the handle, and the blade unsheathes immediately. Except, it’s not the familiar white glow he’s used to. In Magnus’ hands, the blade glows red, almost pulsing with light.

Magnus tightens his hold, fingers all wrong. Alec has half a mind to correct his stance. Magnus swings upward when the Ravenor pounces, blade swinging a clean arc through its midsection. The demon falls, split in two, at Magnus’ feet.

He lets go of the blade, and it clatters uselessly on the cement. Magnus lets out a big breath, a whoosh of air that fills the spaces between them. Isabelle and Clary are watching him, tracking the frantic twitch of his fingers. Alec can’t see his face from this angle, but he notes Magnus rocking back on his heels, unsteady. He wants to run, badly, Alec can sense it.

“Magnus,” he croaks. Magnus turns to look at him, cat’s eyes fixed blankly on his prone form. Alec doesn’t drop his gaze, willing Magnus to come over towards him instead of bolting.

“Alexander,” Magnus says, and his voice cracks, just a little at the end. Alec tries to lift his hand, but that sends a jolt of pain coursing through his shoulder. When he groans, Magnus seems to snap out of whatever daze he’d been in.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood.”  Magnus says, waving his hands over Alec’s skull. Magnus straightens his arm gingerly, careful not to jostle it when they can both see the white bone. Immediately, his magic starts working, and Alec can literally feel his bones knitting themselves together.

Alec nods, and uses his free hand to grasp at Magnus’ sleeve. The pain is lesser now, more of a sting than an ache, and Magnus is warm and solid underneath his fingertips. When he feels strong enough to walk, Magnus helps him up, opening up a portal at the same time.

“I’ll heal him, Isabelle. I promise,” Magnus’ voice sounds far away, and Alec’s eyes slip shut. His chest feels tight, almost like he can’t breathe, and his vision starts to swim as Magnus all but drags him through the portal.

“The loft,” Magnus’ lips brush against his ear. Alec pictures Magnus’ four poster bed, full of unnecessary decorative pillows and silk sheets. It’s his last coherent thought before he collapses completely.

.

When he comes to, Alec realizes that he’s propped up on Magnus’ couch instead. Although he’d pictured the bed, he figures Magnus must have moved him in order to spare the sheets. Perhaps Magnus carried him, which is pretty hot when Alec really starts to think about it.

He gulps, suddenly feeling parched. Magnus snaps his fingers, and a glass of water appears in his hand. Alec drinks it all in one go, taking in Magnus’ exhausted posture and the large spell book in his lap.

“How are you feeling?” Magnus asks, staring at the top of his head. Alec raises his uninjured arm, touching the bandage gingerly.

“Better,” he replies honestly. “But my arm is kind of sore.”

“You fractured it completely,” Magnus says. “Even through magic, it’ll take time to heal.”

Alec nods. He should thank Magnus, but it feels like there’s a vice around his neck. He thinks about Magnus’ hand wrapped around his seraph, his glamour gone, and the crimson glow of the blade illuminating the dilapidated building. His mind is swimming with questions.

“Quite a stunt you pulled,” Magnus says, breaking the silence. He looks impressed, which sends a small burst of pride through Alec’s chest. “Saving Simon like that.”

“He was going to get himself killed. Again.”

“So you threw yourself in front of a Ravenor demon?”

“I didn’t plan on it. But he wasn’t going to make it in time if I didn’t do something.”

Magnus pauses, appraising him silently. He nods to himself, and picks up the spell book he’d been reading. “I see.”

“Wait,” Alec asks, surprised at how easily Magnus agreed with him. “You’re not mad at me?”

“You’re a grown man,” Magnus says. “You don’t need me to give you a _scolding._ I understand why you did it.”

Alec grins, warmth blooming in his chest. After Isabelle’s well-intentioned but exhausting lecture, he’d all but prepared for Magnus to lay it on him as well. His understanding is so refreshingly different from what Alec is used to that he finds himself at a loss for words. He stares at Magnus, hoping his helpless smile conveys his gratitude.

Magnus does notice, the corners of his mouth quirking up. They smile at each other for a few moments, and Alec feels the tightness in his chest disappear.

“The seraph blade…” he trails off, because he can’t resist asking. Not when Magnus seems to break all the rules that’ve been drilled into Alec’s brain since he was young.

Magnus cocks his head. He doesn’t look upset, but he does grip the book tighter.

“It lit up when you touched it. It should’ve -”

“Killed me?” Magnus supplies, casually. “I don’t know why it didn’t.”

“But only Nephilim can use the seraph blade. They’re sacred.”

Magnus snorts at that, barely resisting rolling his eyes. “Sorry for the sacrilege, then.”

“No,” Alec protests. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just – I’ve never seen anyone without Angel blood use a seraph successfully.”

Magnus blinks, and scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m not – I’m not a Shadowhunter, Alec. Not like you. I don’t know why it responded to me, but I promise it’s not because I’m some Nephilim in disguise.”

“But -”

“There’s no Angel in me,” Magnus cuts him off, voice firm. Alec stares at him, waiting for the tension between them to snap.

“Unless,” The corners of Magnus’ mouth curl up. “You’d like to change that?”

Alec huffs, a little embarrassed by Magnus’ blatant flirting. He doesn’t know why it affects him so, as Magnus’ flirting has devolved into awful puns, but he can feel his face start to heat up.

“Magnus,” he warns, but there’s a smile threatening to bloom on his face.

“Hmm?” he asks, voice teasing.  

“You saved my life,” Alec says, changing the subject. Magnus looks relieved, mouth twisting into a devilish smile.

“I did, didn’t I?”

“You,” he rises unsteadily, and squeezes Magnus’ arm. “You _saved_ me.”

“We’ve established that. Didn’t you see Simon swooning?”

Alec shakes his head. Magnus doesn’t get it, not really. Alec is the protector, Alec is the one that has everyone’s back, Alec is the one that saves people and doesn’t ask for any thanks in return. Having someone else do that for him is jarring, unfamiliar - yet it shakes Alec to the core.

He means something to Magnus. Enough that Magnus was willing to touch a seraph blade, knowing it could kill him but using it anyway for Alec. It means whatever they’re hurtling towards is mutual, the two of them orbiting around the massive black hole of emotion before it sucks them in.

He pulls Magnus in with his healed arm, ignoring the slight twinge of pain.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against Magnus’. Magnus’ eyes slide shut, and his lips part slightly. Alec kisses him, ignoring the blood in his mouth.

“Anything for you, Alexander,” Magnus whispers. His nose bumps against Alec's, but his eyes remain closed even as Alec’s fly open.

 _Anything for you._ Alec lets himself believe that, just for a moment.

.


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt requested by [lukegarrowayisamaincharacter](http://lukegarrowayisamaincharacter.tumblr.com) , who wanted the sort of clients Magnus deals with in a typical day; plus some Luke and Magnus interaction bc why not.

i.

 

It’s three in the morning when Magnus receives an unexpected call. It’s from an unknown number, but he picks up anyway.

“Hello?” he mumbles, fully aware it sounds like his voice has been stuck in a blender but too tired to fix it. “Can I help you?”

“My name’s Carine,” a woman says into the phone. “Are you Magnus Bane? The high something of somewhere?”

“I am,” he says. He can hear things clattering on the other line. “Do I know you?”

“You’re about to,” Carine says. She sounds frazzled, and doesn’t elaborate for a few minutes. He hears a muffled shout, and a frantic _Get down from there, Thomas!_

“This going to sound ridiculous, but my son - Thomas - he’s floating! In mid-air! I don’t know what to do. They said you could help.”

“Who’s they?” 

“My neighbours. A few units down. They said it was about time I learned the truth about Thomas and that you would guide me.”

 Magnus scrubs his hands over his eyes. “Is Thomas still levitating?”

“Yeah,” she groans. She sounds desperate, exhausted from trying to receive her son from the ceiling. 

“I can pull him down over the phone,” Magnus tells her. “It’s a simple charm that will keep him grounded for a while. All I need you to do is catch him.”

“Catch?” Carine shrieks. Her voice pierces through the phone. “I am not risking my son’s life with a game of catch." 

“You’ll have to,” Magnus says. “I promise it’s safe.”

“Alright,” Carine takes in a shaky breath. “My arms are wide and I’ve put pillows all over the floor. What else?”

“Just hold steady,” he says, and starts chanting lowly. Carine breathes heavily through the phone, but after a few tense moments he hears things rustle again, and suddenly the line is silent. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she apologizes. “I dropped my phone to catch Thomas.”

“It worked, then?” Magnus asks, although he already knows the answer. He can feel the child’s magic all the way from here, pulsing bright and steady. Magnus thinks it must be green.

“Yeah,” Carine breathes out, relief evident in her face. “Thank you, Magnus.”

“Not a problem,” he says. “If there’s anything else?”

“There is,” Carine says, before he can hang up. “Could you come over, to my apartment? My neighbours were adamant that you see Thomas in person.”

Magnus deliberates. It’s three in the morning, not exactly the time to make a house call, and he’s not quite sure who this Carine is, but the prospect of seeing a new warlock excites him. Young blood and all that. He tucks in a few pamphlets Catarina made about raising a new warlock child, although he doubts Carine will even look at them. 

“Sure,” he tells her. “Your address, please?”

She gives him an address of an old apartment building a few blocks from 79th street, one with hanging plants and bikes strapped to the balconies. It’s a charming spot, and Magnus blinks away his sleepiness as he approaches the fifth floor. 

As he portals himself closer, he catches sight of an elderly couple giving him a knowing glance. He knocks on the door smartly, and hears the chain-lock slide out of his holding. The _9_ of the unit number is hanging crooked, and paint is flaking red all over his jacket.

A woman peeks out, face half obscured by the morning shadows. Her coiled hair is frizzing all over the place, a few locks brushing against her eyes. She looks exhausted, bags forming under her soft eyes and melting into her tanned skin. 

“Carine?” Magnus asks, sticking his hand through the tiny gap between the door and the wall. “I’m Magnus.”

Carine shakes his hand, and Magnus fingers the pamphlets in his pocket. For whatever reason, he doesn’t pull them out just yet. The elderly couple is still watching, so he hopes Carine will let him in soon.

“What was it that you needed?” he prompts, when it’s clear Carine will simply stare at his glittery self until her eyes go crossed.

“I’m not sure, exactly,” she says, folding and unfolding the hem of her shirt. Magnus can feel her nervous energy from the doorway. 

“They told me to call the nearest grand wizard, or something. I guess that’s you.”

“High Warlock,” Magnus corrects, and walks in when she finally pulls the door open. The apartment is modest, decorated in a way that feels cosy and and warm. Magnus lets the tension melt from his shoulders. 

“Can I see the little one?” he asks, not bothering to shuck off his coat. He stands as firmly as he can with a teething ring squished under his heel. 

Carine stares at him for another beat, and then nods. “He’s sleeping right now. I’ll try not to wake him. Or make him levitate again.” She giggles at that, probably out of exhaustion, and Magnus sends her a soft smile. 

When she returns, she’s got a swaddled mass of blankets in which Magnus presumes contains a baby. 

“Sometimes the heating goes off,” she shrugs. “I have to make sure he’s warm.”

Something horribly fond roots itself in Magnus’ chest, and he tries viciously to tamp down the hope sprouting from it. Carine the mundane hadn’t shown all her cards yet. 

She pulls back the top blanket, a frilly pink thing that hails from a decade Magnus spent drinking away. The smooth, smushed face of little Thomas reveals itself to him - eyes closed in sleep, full mouth pursed in the sweetest of dreams. 

His eyes start to sting. For once, Magnus is at a loss. Is he supposed to compliment her on the baby? It’s not like he’s spent much time around mundanes as small as this, Clary notwithstanding. 

“May I see his warlock Mark?” he asks, unable to step any closer to the baby. Carine furrows her brow, and pulls Thomas against her chest tightly. 

“Can I see yours first?” she asks, a little brashly. Magnus bristles at that, but then he thinks that she’s only trying to protect her son. Even now, fast asleep, Carine wants him safe. Magnus’ chest aches with her request. 

“Of course,” he says graciously, and lets the glamour on his eyes drop. It feels like clearing away dust that settled on a lens, immediately gratifying with how clear the world becomes. 

Carine, predictably, gasps softly. But then, to Magnus’ utter surprise, she smiles toothily. 

“Just like Thomas!” she exclaims, loud enough that the child awakens. He gurgles, face twisting in displeasure. Magnus waits for an ear-splitting wail, or a pitiful cry, but Thomas simply glances up at his mother and coos himself into full awareness. 

Carine melts. Magnus too, alarmingly, finds himself utterly charmed. 

Thomas, for his part, directs his too-blue gaze on the both of them. 

“Oh,” Magnus says, taken aback. “They’re very blue.”

Thomas’ eyes, in fact, are only blue. There’s no visible sclera at all, and the pupils are long diamond shaped slits. Very much like Magnus indeed.

“Yup,” Carine says proudly. “Not sure how genes work when your kid’s a wizard, but he must’ve gotten them from somewhere.”

“Warlock,” Magnus reminds her. It’s almost surreal that she isn’t screaming her head off. 

“Right,” Carine nods. Thomas bats a tiny fist against her chest. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, or tea?”

Magnus waves his hand. “I’m alright.”

Carine nods again. Magnus glances at her from the corner of his eye, taken aback by her calm expression towards her child. He can’t sense any fear or disgust from her at all. 

“You know,” he starts, hating how he has to break the serene moment but unable to quell the niggling fear in his skull. “We’ve set up an adoption system for infant warlocks in New York. It’s quite good, and I personally screen all the adoptive parents myself. Thomas will be in good hands.”

Carine’s head turns so quickly Magnus gets whiplash. “Excuse me?” Her normally soft face is contorted with indignation. 

“I’m just saying,” he placates. “You don’t have to keep him if you find yourself unable to handle the stress of raising a warlock child." 

Carine’s mouth trembles. “I am more than capable of taking care of my son.”

“That’s what you think now,” Magnus says, feeling his own anger bubble to the surface. “But when his other Marks develop, and his magic gets out of hand, what will you do then? As a Mundane, you won’t be able to provide him with the training or guidance he needs!”

 “Thomas is staying with me!” Carine roars. “That’s final.” She places her son gently on the couch and turns to face Magnus fully, hands on her hips. 

“I called you so I could have help in raising my son,” she says in a slow, measured voice. “ _Not_ to have you tell me to give him away!”

Magnus stares at her. There isn’t a trace of anything but love in her eyes when she talks about her child. He feels a headache building in his temples. When did he get so invested in the lives of two people he’s just met?

“I - ” he swallows forcefully. “I apologize, Carine. I was being unprofessional.”

Carine exhales loudly. “I know you think that because I’m a - a _Mundane_ -or whatever that I can’t handle this. But I’ve had the Sight since I was a child. I am aware of what world Thomas belongs to.”

Magnus nods. He feels stupid, exposed at every end by his own doing.

“I was simply looking out for the boy,” he says, sheepishly. “Not many parents are willing to keep the warlock children they have.”

Carine tilts her head, as if she’s seeing right through him. “I didn’t know that,” she admits. “But it makes sense now that you’ve told me.”

Magnus tries not to shift under her gaze. This was supposed to be a simple house call where he’d lift a young warlock from an ungrateful parent’s arms. He hadn’t prepared himself for such compassion. It wounds him, makes him ache all over again.

“I’ll give you my card,” he says, snapping his fingers. Blue sparks from his painted nails, and Carine watches with a mesmerized expression. She catches the card as it floats in the air. 

“Will Thomas be able to do that?”

“With the right guidance, he could do anything,” Magnus says. He spares another glance to the calm bundle on the couch. “I’d be more than willing to teach him, if you’d like that.”

“I would,” Carine smiles at him, genuinely. Both of their tempers have cooled down significantly. 

Magnus lets himself out, letting the door lock itself. As Thomas begins to grumble a little, he snaps his fingers and fixes the busted thermostat in the apartment behind him. 

(Carine calls him a month later. Turns out Thomas has golden stripes running down his back and a penchant for setting his favourite blanket on fire. Magnus laughs into the phone all the way to the door with the chipped paint and hanging nine.)

 

ii.

 

When Magnus finally returns to his loft, it’s six in the morning. He recalls a period of his life, some sorry decade after he left London, where he’d decided to wake up at six every day and do some yoga. That plan had worked for an entire week, which is much longer than what he usually commits to, until it hit him that his body would remain in its twenty eight year old form no matter how much exercise he did or didn’t do. Which led him to retire to Zimbabwe for a year, but that was another tale. 

He falls straight onto the bed, not bothering to pull off his shoes. He sleeps, blissfully uninterrupted until eleven, when his phone rings again. 

“Hello?” He asks again, hoping to God it was a wrong number. He was still tired, and needed a much longer nap than this one. 

“Hey Magnus. It’s Luke. Could you drop by the station for a bit?”

“What for?” he grumps. It’s not like wants to be rude to New York’s alpha leader, but he’s not up for much eloquence. 

“I’ve got the body of a Seelie I’d like you to look at. I did the preliminary autopsy with Isabelle, but she had to leave early for the Institute.Would you mind coming in so I can wrap this up?”

Magnus pulls his mouth from the receiver and sighs a little dramatically. He usually enjoys being so in demand, but not when it took away from much needed rest. Then again, it was Luke Garroway asking, and Magnus found quite difficult to deny anything in the face of such compassion and trust. 

“I’m on my way,” Magnus says, opening up a portal. He slips into his loafers and magicks his hair into a presentable style. 

The station is bustling when he arrives, and a few officers give him a look when he steps in - despite his toned down appearance. Magnus barely registers it, making a beeline for Detective Garroway’s desk. 

Luke looks up from his paperwork and nods to acknowledge his presence. “We’ll go straight to the autopsy room. We can’t discuss much out here.”

Magnus follows him to the glamoured autopsy room, which looks like a plain wall to the Mundane officers. He himself created the glamour, and notes with disinterest it needs some magical rejuvenation. He’ll add that to the list. 

The body of the Seelie, unmoving and cold on the steel table, is covered by a white sheet. Magnus steels himself as Luke pulls the sheets back. 

A young one. Or young-looking, at the very least. Magnus bites back the bile when he sees a clean line splitting the Seelie’s torso in two. 

“Does that look like a Nephilim wound to you?” Luke asks. His voice sounds far away, and Magnus can’t tear his eyes from where the cut starts branching out like lightning all over the Seelie’s body. 

“At first glance, it does,” Magnus says, tracking Luke’s stiff expression. “But a seraph doesn’t cause wounds to proliferate like this. Something’s been added to the weapon.”

Luke clenches his jaw. He comes to the same conclusion Magnus does in half the time. 

“Valentine,” he sighs, looking so very tired. Magnus wonders if he should put a hand on the detective’s shoulders to console him, but can’t bring himself to reach over the dead body. 

“He’s been experimenting on Mundanes for months now. It only makes sense he’d move on to Downworlders.”

Luke looks away, staring a hole into the plain wall beside the gurney. Magnus waits patiently until Luke collects himself, and starts to bring up the fading glamour when Luke interrupts him. 

“I was there, you know,” Luke begins, pulling the sheet over the Seelie. “When we made the Accords. I stood right by him as he promised peace and security to Downworlders and Shadowhunters alike. I believed every word he said.”

Magnus opens his mouth, but takes a while to find the appropriate words. “You loved him,” he offers. 

Luke’s fingers tremble against his badge. “I did,” he confesses, and by extension he says _I still do_. Magnus understands wholly. 

They fall into a companionable silence, where Magnus deliberates on when exactly Lucian Graymark crumbled to form Luke Garroway. His thoughts wander, past the cold autopsy room and the greying Seelie, back to the warmth of his loft and the wonder in two very blue eyes.

“Have you eaten?” Luke asks, and it snaps Magnus out of his trance. He’s about to ask why Luke cares before he remembers he’s talking to the man who raised Clary as if she were his own with no hesitation.  

“I haven’t,” he realizes. “Where would you like to go?”

“There’s a sandwich place right off Madison. Best subs in all of Brooklyn.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Magnus says, and pretends like he’s never been to the place hundreds of times before. 

. 

Magnus is two bites into his teriyaki sub before a familiar flash of red catches his eye.

“Is that Clary?” he wonders, setting down the sandwich and looking at Luke. The detective looks just as confused as he is, and rises to call after her. Magnus moves to follow, but his phone buzzes with a single text from Raphael. 

                          _Need your help with smth. Be in the loft before 6pm. Thx._

Magnus furrows his brow at his old friend’s strange request. He checks the time, figuring he has a while to finish his sandwich and say his goodbyes to Luke before dealing with Raphael. He pockets his phone and follows Luke out of the shop.

“Clary!” Luke bellows, sounding very much the proud father Magnus knows him to be. “Come back here right now.”

Magnus hears a skittering of feet, and suddenly he’s face to face with two and a half Shadowhunters. Isabelle comes first, sliding smartly on the concrete and coming up right by him. Alec follows, gaze locked on Magnus as he steps over the curb behind Isabelle.

“Whoops,”Isabelle says. “I almost didn’t see you.”

“Good to see you, Isabelle. Clary,” he nods when the redhead bumps into him. Magnus turns her shoulders so he can face her fully.

“Hey Magnus,” Clary greets. “Hey Luke.”

“Can I ask what you’re doing outside at this hour?”

“It’s four o’clock!” Clary whines. “I’m on patrol with Izzy. You know this.”

“I also know that you should be in the Institute right now. Isn’t it in lockdown? Where’s Jocelyn?”

“I don’t want to talk to Mom,” Clary folds her arms over her chest. “Besides, Alec said I could come.”

“He only said that so he could find Magnus,” Izzy retorts, and Alec’s eyes widen behind her. He shakes his head at Magnus, embarrassment colouring his features. Magnus fights off a smirk.

He steps aside, tilting his head so Alec can follow him. Alec pulls himself away from his sister, who’s watching Clary’s argument with Luke with much amusement.

“Alexander,” he says, once they’re both leaning across from each other. “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“Yeah,” Alec agrees, before pushing himself off the wall. He doesn’t hesitate in grabbing Magnus’ face and pressing a long, hard kiss on his lips. Magnus doesn’t have the mental function to do anything but be kissed, opening himself up immediately to Alec. It seems that public displays of affection are becoming a staple in their relationship, not that Magnus minds.

When Alec pulls back, Magnus expects to see a blush on his face. Instead, he’s graced with Alec’s bright smile and so much fondness in his eyes he can’t bear to look at him any longer. 

Had Alexander really changed so much in mere months of being with Magnus? He thinks not, that Alec always had this much love inside him. Magnus was simply another person lucky enough to receive it. 

“You’ve got a little sauce - here,” Alec pushes his thumb over Magnus’ lip, slowly, wiping away the sauce that Magnus knows isn’t there at all. He lets Alec’s fingers linger on his mouth, and resists the urge to kiss them when they start to tickle.

“Are you doing anything right now?” he asks, watching Magnus intently.

“I have one last client,” Magnus says regretfully. “I don’t think I could join you for the evening.”

Alec purses his lips, trying to hide his disappointment. “My patrol is over, but I guess we can do something tomorrow.”

“This impromptu sandwich session wasn’t enough for you?” Magnus teases. 

“It’s never enough,” Alec says firmly, but doesn’t let his words make them both sad. “But it’s okay. I’ll call you.”

Magnus nods, the weight of his phone suddenly heavier in his pocket. He watches Alexander and the rest walk away. He bids goodbye to Luke, who’s busy on the phone with Jocelyn as he opens the portal, and thinks of his empty loft as the magic buzzes around him.

 

iii.

 

The last client, but certainly not the least, was Raphael. He arrives at Magnus’ door at six sharp, waiting for Magnus to invite him in. Magnus considers toying with him and not allowing him in until he notices the caged look in Raphael’s eyes. 

“I need something,” he mutters, pushing past Magnus into the loft. He wraps the chain hanging round his neck on his pinky, the silver cross glinting in the low lights. “I hate asking, but -”

“You have no choice,” Magnus finishes. It seems none of his friends do, these days.

Raphael stops his pacing to look up at him. Magnus takes him in increments, the scar on his cheek following the gelled curl on his forehead. There’s a slight tension in his brows, more so than usual, which leads Magnus to think he must be truly desperate. 

“Is it for the clan?” Magnus surmises tensions must be high after the fledgling Simon was kicked out. 

Raphael shakes his head. “No,” he says quietly. He checks the date on his pocket watch, and shoves it back into his pocket. “It’s for me.”

Magnus stares at the chain peeking out from his pocket, and the cross dangling on Raphael’s chest, and suddenly it dawns on him why exactly Raphael has visited him after nearly twenty years of radio silence. 

“The sunset is at 6:32 pm, according to the weather channel,” Raphael says. He’s looking out of the bay windows, eyes tracking the haze of late afternoon. “I’d like to see it.”

Magnus ignores the muscle jumping in his jaw. “I thought you hated watching the mundane news.” He says it airily, trying to lift some of the stress bearing down on his friend.

“I do,” Raphael sends him a sidelong glance. “But it was necessary to get the timing right.”

“Of course,” Magnus says, discretely casting the enchantment. Raphael doesn’t say anything, but his eyes still widen when the sky paints itself on Magnus’ suddenly bare, suddenly white walls. 

“It’s not like the vampires have technology past the sundial anyway,” he jokes, just to see Raphael roll his eyes and smile. 

“I suppose not,” Raphael murmurs, and pulls away the dining table chairs to sit himself on the floor. Magnus sinks down next to him, not close enough for their shoulders to brush but close enough that they could, if that’s what Raphael wanted.

Magnus stretches his long legs, cracking his toes and noting his chipped polish on the nails. He moves to paint a new coat but thinks better of it, suddenly remembering the fond look on Alexander’s face whenever he manages to catch Magnus a degree away from perfect. Unbidden, a soft smile comes to his face, and he gingerly touches his finger to his lips- remembering the kiss Alec had given him hours ago. 

“You’re in love again,” Raphael huffs. “With that Shadowhunter.” 

Magnus prepares for a thorough ribbing when Raphael surprises him once more. “It’s a good look on you,” he says, still not looking at Magnus. 

Magnus nods slightly, watching as the sun starts dipping slowly into the horizon. The tense line of Raphael’s shoulders has disappeared, leaving him slack and comfortable. The orange glow washes over both of them, and for a moment Magnus thinks he sees Raphael as truly alive. 

_Happiness,_ he thinks, _is a good look for both of them._

_._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to send in prompts here in the comments or at my tumblr!


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt requested by [amorverus](http://amorverus.tumblr.com) who asked for battle couple malec. This is set some time after they bring back Jace but before they defeat Valentine.

.

“You could defeat Valentine all by yourself, you know.” Alec realizes out loud one day, sitting on the high stools near Magnus’ granite countertop. He’s fiddling with his bitten straw, chasing the last droplets of his cocktail on the bottom of the glass. He looks up after a while, seeing Magnus’ gaze on the mission reports spread around them.

Magnus raises a brow, still fixed on the reports. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Alexander.”

“No,” Alec shakes his head. “I mean it. Angel knows you’re powerful enough to do it. But -”

“But I won’t?” Magnus lifts his head, slow and practised. “How awful of me.” Alec keeps his gaze level, even as Magnus clenches his jaw so hard Alec can hear his teeth grinding from here.

“The point is that you could,” Alec says, feeling his blood run hot. Despite his self-inflicted emotional suppression, he’s never quite been able to get a handle on his temper. He’ll pay for it now.

“This morning,” he continues, more than aware that he’s starting one painful fight. “When Jace and Clary had the Eastern front, they were up against so many soldiers I knew they’d lose. But you just snapped your fingers, and they were out like _that_.”

Alec knows he’s just parroting what he’s heard in the endless Clave meetings, what’s been recorded time and time again in the case files, what everyone and their mother knows about Magnus Bane. That he could destroy the entire Shadow World if he wanted to.

“You have enough magic to take out hundreds of demons at once. I’ve seen you in battle, Magnus. I know what you can do. You could end this war within a day!” He’s full on shouting now, the frustration of the war he can only see them losing letting itself loose.

Magnus blinks, and Alec sees his iris start to bleed gold. His mouth contorts into an awful, twisted version of his usually breathtaking smile.

“You haven’t seen anything,” he says evenly, pulling away from the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. Alec feels the temperature of the room drop, plummeting like his stomach as Magnus moves further and further away from him. Alec doesn’t want an argument, but he knows it’s necessary. The last time they’d disagreed, he’d let Magnus leave - and the aftermath had nearly torn them apart.

“If I could do what you can, I’d do anything to end this,” Alec says. “To stop the fighting and keep everyone safe.”

Magnus squeezes his eyes shut, visibly upset now. Alec’s never seen him so strung out, and the guilt of making him that way settles in his stomach.

“You’re not seeing the big picture, Alec.”

Alec reaches out, one long arm grabbing at Magnus’ wrist. He knows he has no right, that Magnus could teleport him onto a different continent if he wanted, but he has to try.

“Help me, then. Show me what I’m not seeing,” he pleads. Magnus’ shirt is soft under his fingertips, a muted honey he’d worn after Alec’s stuttered confession of how well it suited his skin tone.

Magnus shrugs him off, which stings, but Alec ignores it.

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” Magnus pleads, and Alec doesn’t miss the way his voice drops into something raw and cracked. “Tried to save everyone and everything all by myself?”

Alec has never heard pure despair in his boyfriend’s voice. It makes him want to take it all back, wrap himself around Magnus and beg for forgiveness.

He leans forward but Magnus steps back, pressing himself against the adjacent counter.

“Valentine is not my responsibility,” Magnus says. His voice has sublimated to steel. “He’s a byproduct of Nephilim ignorance and hypocrisy. If I kill him now, another will surely pop up in a few decades.”

Like whack-a-mole, Alec thinks glumly. “So there’s no hope, then? Nothing will change?” he asks, all the anger deflating out of him. Ever since he met Magnus, his opinion on the Clave has stood on shakier and shakier grounds. Were things truly as bad as Magnus knew them to be?

Magnus shakes his head. “There’s always hope,” he says. “And things will always change. But it’s not up to me to meddle with how it all plays out”

Alec purses his lips together, letting Magnus’ words hangs in the silence of the loft. “You’re right,” he says, a little worn out.

“I usually am,” Magnus smirks. There’s the unspoken forgiveness in his eyes, the one that Alec doesn’t ever want to take for granted.

Alec smiles at that, pushing up to drop a quick kiss on Magnus’ mouth. His phone buzzes, and he checks the notifications to see a slew of text messages from Jace and Isabelle. They’ve caught wind of a marching army near the coast, with Valentine leading the front.

“I know you won’t kill all the demons,” Alec starts, catching Magnus’ eye. “But would you like to kill some?”

Magnus raises a brow. “When?” He pretends to be deep in thought, but Alec can see him arranging a portal behind his back.

“Right now,” Alec grabs him by the wrist, hauling them both through the portal - straight into the battlefield.

.

“Well,” Magnus says, examining the scene before him. Alec lets an arrow fly, whizzing past both of them.

It strikes one of Valentine’s cronies, sending him flying off into the river. Beyond the stretch of razed land, there’s an actual army advancing- chock full of lesser demons and rogue Shadowhunters. Alec squints, something off about how these soldiers carry themselves.

“Well,” he says again, and just stands there - not attacking, not letting any of his magic loose. Alec would shake him if he wasn't currently trying to take down the Shax demon winding itself around Magnus’ legs.

“It’s alright, Alexander,” Magnus says, and holds his arm out. The Shax demon pushes up against his hand, and Alec rubs at his eyes as he watches his boyfriend pet it.

“Right,” he says weakly, as the demon wraps itself like a boa constrictor on Magnus’ arm. Magnus doesn’t look too worried, just strokes the scales and lets the demon bite his arm. The venom traces up his veins, and for a second Magnus’ eyes flash pure white.

“Does he do this a lot?” Isabelle asks, right in his ear. Alec tries not to jump. He spots Simon and Jace in the corner of his eye, but doesn’t take his gaze off Magnus.

“I’m not sure,” he says. Truthfully, Alec doesn’t know what Magnus does a lot of, since the time he’d set out to get to know him is being swallowed up by the war.

Magnus pulls the demon off his arm, and it explodes in a flash of blue sparks. He flaps his left hand, signalling them all to stand back. Then, he sweeps his right arm, hand clenched tightly around nothing, and Alec suddenly feels a bout of nausea rise up on him.

“Try to relax,” Magnus says, and Alec hears him clearly even though he’s floated closer to Valentine’s men.

Magnus opens up his fist, and his magic becomes a firecracker, fizzling out in every direction in the shape of the Shax demon that bit him. The ground ruptures outward, jagged lines cracking away from Magnus’ feet. Valentine’s army doesn’t notice until it’s too late, the magic snaking it’s way up their legs and pulling them under the earth.

“Whoa,” Simon exclaims, the sparks reflecting in his glassy eyes. He doesn’t seem at all affected by dropping pressure or way the ground seems to be spinning. Alec hates him. “That was awesome!”

Alec watches with dismay as the vampire high fives Magnus, chuckling when some of the magic trickles down his sleeve. It’s exceptionally unfair that the most powerful display of magic Alec’s seen so far has him wanting to put his head between his knees. At least his parabatai and Clary aren’t faring too well either, both turning green. Isabelle looks close to hurling all over her six inch heels.

“Sorry about that,” Magnus says. “Too much demonic magic upsets your Nephilim stomachs. I’ll fix it.” He sends a healing burst of magic through them all, hand clasped with Simon’s to borrow his strength.

“How the hell did you do that?” Jace heaves, wiping the sweat off his brow. He sounds impressed, watching the army scramble and retreat past all the fallen bodies.

Magnus shrugs, the action self-deprecating and entirely unlike him. “Just matched the demon’s energy to my own and replicated its attack patterns. Very boring magic stuff.”

“Didn’t look boring,” Isabelle says, smiling at Magnus fondly. She’s letting her whip curl on the floor, relaxed and loose.

Before Alec has a chance to open his mouth, Simon cuts in again. “You’ve got to show me again sometime, Magnus.” Because apparently Magnus hangs out with Simon now. Great.

“Valentine is still there,” Alec announces, fully aware he’s putting a damper on everyone’s mood. “In case any of you wanted to, I don’t know, get him.”

“We’re going,” Isabelle huffs, grabbing Clary as they speed to Valentine’s left. She side-eyes him hard, but Alec ignores her - instead boring holes into the back of Magnus’ head.

Magnus takes his time turning, teleporting Simon and Jace to Angel knows where. They walk side by side up the nearest hill, surveying the ongoing battle. Everyone looks tiny, the remaining clusters of Valentine’s army being weeded out by his parabatai and sister.

“Felt strange, didn’t it?” Magnus says, still facing straight ahead. Alec knows exactly what he’s talking about. He nods, unsure of what to say. Magnus is in one of his quiet, saturnine moods. Alec knows him enough that saying the wrong thing will turn him to ice.

He never thought that magic, especially from Magnus, would make him feel so nauseous. So dazed, as if he’d seen something he shouldn’t have.

“That much power,” Magnus says, lazily drawing a circle in the air. It sends a powerful blast onto a group of demons that managed to sneak up on Isabelle and Clary.

“It can’t exist in this realm. And it shouldn’t. And -” Magnus looks him in the eye, the glamour casting his gaze pitch black. “I won’t bring it here.”

Alec blinks. It slowly dawns on him that everything - the battle, the argument prior - had led to this. Magnus was teaching him a lesson in magic. One he didn’t think he’d have to learn.

“I understand,” he says firmly. Magnus still has that glassy, far away look in his eye. Alec holds his sharp jaw in his hands.

“Hey,” he says again, stepping into Magnus’ personal space. “I get it. I really do.”

Magnus blinks once. Twice. And then, unexpectedly, a bright smile blooms on his face. Bright enough that Alec’s heart skips a beat.  
“Alright,” Magnus says. He’s got a small smile on his face, but that’s not enough for Alec.

“It’s not fair of me to ask you to use all of your powers for me, us. I mean, I don’t even know what you can actually do.”

He’s rambling at this point, but he can’t stop. “I want you to fight by my side,” he says, still holding Magnus’ face in his hands. “I want you to use your magic how you see fit. On the field, we’re equal partners in everything.”

Magnus bites his lip. “That’s enough, Alexander.” Alec can hear the laughter in his voice. “You sound like you’re making your vows.”

Alec’s face heats up, and he ignores how his chest feels tight. Now was not the time to start swooning.

“Yeah, well - whatever,” he mumbles, reaching for his quiver. He can’t outwit Magnus, not really, so he just huffs and lets a volley of arrows loose. Magnus guides them a little with his magic, the tails sparking with his signature cobalt spark.

Alec activates his speed rune, zipping down the hill and to Valentine’s right. He can sense Jace behind him, and a flash of red hair tells him Clary is on his left. It isn’t until the ground starts tingling that he feels Magnus right next to him.

It’s with a strange thrill that Alec realizes they’re _in sync._ Perfectly. When Magnus’ arm sweeps left, the demons drop like flies and the field becomes clear for him to aim right at Valentine. He lets loose another arrow, which takes out the burly Shadowhunter standing on Valentine’s right. It startles the man himself, enough for Magnus to send a pulse of energy that knocks him to the ground.

Before Alec can notch the arrow that would pierce Valentine’s heart, a grey mist surrounds him and three of his men. Stunned, Alec can only watch as it wraps around the four and vanishes them out of existence.

“Hold up, did Valentine just disappear?” Simon cries.

“What kind of magic is that?” Clary asks.

“Same kind that’s keeping these things upright,” Magnus says, poking one ambling about with his finger. It wobbles slightly, and then crumples inward - knees bent all wrong.

“We should take one of these in,” Isabelle says, gesturing to the slumped warrior. “I want to see how they work from the inside.”

“That one,” Alec points to another warrior with the strange garb and mace. The one with the jilted, ungainly walk. Magnus crooks a finger to his left, and his magic wraps around the warrior’s body and tugs him to their feet.  
.

The interrogation room is cold and dreary, which doesn’t improve Alec’s mood much. The Shadowhunter before him looks worse up close, grey and rotting in a way that makes his stomach churn. It isn’t until Magnus steps in and shuts the door behind him that Alec can see something flicker behind those clouded eyes.

“Bane,” croaks the Shadowhunter. Magnus looks up from the heavy tome he’s been reading outside.

“I remember you.” Magnus raises his eyebrow and sends Alec an intrigued look.

Alec blinks, leaning forward a little. “From where?”

“Raquira,” he rasps. Alec can see the skin of his neck peeling around his rune, grey and mottled.

“That was hundreds of years ago,” Magnus says. “There weren’t any Shadowhunters that survived that battle.”

The Shadowhunter nods. Alec realizes that in front of him is a living piece of history, a personified example of Nephilim greatness. The Shadowhunters of centuries ago, fearless defenders of the world. The Battle of Raquira was one of the first Alec ever learned about in the Institute, nestled in the thick books of the library. It was the bloodiest, the longest, the most brutal power struggle between the Downworld and the Nephilim. In Jace’s words, it was also the coolest.

Magnus furrows his brow. He keeps flipping through the spell book, the turning pages the only sound in the cold interrogation room. Abruptly, he stops, tapping the page he’s landed on with a painted nail.

“ _Reanima_ ,” Magnus murmurs. “He brought you back.”

Alec feels a pit of dread in his stomach. He realizes that Magnus and him are interrogating a corpse, something long dead. It explains the stench permeating the room, the way he feels repulsed to his core if he looks for too long. The way even Magnus keeps his distance, shoulders angled away.

“Necromancy is against the Clave’s law,” Alec says, hollowly. He wants this interview to be over, to pull Magnus away from something so disgusting and awful. He never wants to do this again.

“Clave,” echoes the hunter. His coherence is slipping now, and Alec fears Magnus’ spell won’t last any longer. Not that he wants it to. Magnus snaps his finger, and prevents his rib from slipping out. Alec fights the urge to hurl.

“I think we’re done here,” Magnus says, and starts to pull the magic from the hunter. Suddenly, the Shadowhunter raises a mottled hand to stop.

“What is it?” Alec asks. He can feel himself on the verge of panicking. “What do you want?”

The hunter licks at his lips and raises his cloudy gaze to Alec. “Bury me,” he groans, something awful flickering in his eyes.

“They didn’t bury you the first time?” Alec asks, the dread twisting in his gut. The hunter shakes his head.

The Battle of Raquira was the Nephilim’s first success against the Downworld. All the warriors were heroes, their names sandwiched in Alec’s textbook. Buried in their finest clothes, ensconced in the shiniest coffins, settled in the loamy earth for all eternity. Alec had repeated those facts in his mind, turning them over and over like a smooth stone. He’d wanted to be buried like that too.

“We’ll bury you,” Magnus says, sensing the cracks in Alec’s facade. “After Isabelle conducts the autopsy.”

He snaps his fingers, pulling the magic out all at once. The body slides forward, landing with a small thump at their feet. Alec can’t take it anymore. He grabs Magnus by the wrist and practically hauls him out of the room, tugging on his bracelets until they’re as far from the interrogation room as possible. He twists the knob harshly, pulling Magnus into his spartan bedroom.

“Alexander?” Magnus asks softly. Alec pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling deeply. He uses Magnus’ bracelet to pull his wrist to his mouth, lips hovering over the pulse point. Unthinking, he presses his lips to the warm flesh, nose pressed against the heel of Magnus’ palm. Magnus twists it a little, letting his fingers settle on Alec’s cheek. Alec leans into it, kissing up the heel of his palm.

Magnus is warm and vibrant under him, skin a little dry from the harsh Institute soap he’d cleaned himself with. Alec lets his lips catch on every bump and ridge, and pushes on the space between Magnus’ knuckles. Wordlessly, Magnus leads them both to Alec’s bed, tugging Alec until they’re across from each other on the duvet.

“You remember the Battle of Raquira?” Alec asks, once he’s calmed himself down. Magnus jerks upward, surprised by Alec’s question. He picks at a thread that’s come undone on Alec’s sheets. Alec picks at the rings on his other hand.

“I do,” Magnus says. He’s sitting cross-legged, posture stiff enough for Alec to notice. A few days ago, Alec had him spread out on the rough sheets, watched his feet get tangled and slide down the edge of the bed as he’d arched up and moaned - loud and filthy, hand tugging too hard in Alec’s hair.

And now, Magnus looks like he’s about to sprint off the bed if given the chance. Alec wraps the silver chain around his finger, tight enough that his fingers feel numb.

What can he even ask? His father’s words echo in his head. _There’s so much you don’t know about him._ Alec had vowed to change that, and yet three months into the war he knew next to nothing. How had he let so much distance grow between them?

“Why didn’t they bury the Shadowhunters?” is what he blurts out instead. _Oh right, Alec thinks, this was how._

Magnus twists his rings slowly. “I don’t know much about Nephilim burial traditions, but I recall hearing that the ground wasn’t pure enough. Instead of burying, I think they rolled the bodies into the lake.”

He’s being careful, sensitive with his words. But Alec can’t take another person dancing around the awful truth of the Clave. Not anymore.

Logistically, it makes sense, considering how well preserved the centuries old corpse had been. But he’d always been told burial was the most important part of being a Shadowhunter. The more glorious the death, the better the burial.

“The land was vampire territory,” Magnus supplies. “Host to a lot of Downworlder celebrations and rituals. Clearly, it was impure since we had touched the earth before they had.”

Alec takes a deep breath. It should have made sense, falling neatly in place with what he’d been taught about Downworlders through his whole life.

But it didn’t. And Alec knew that know, after everything that had happened, things wouldn’t make sense for a long time.

He reaches out, twining his fingers with Magnus’ until the familiar tingle of magic sparked between them. Alec imagines the same magic coursing through him, wrapping around his heart and anchoring him to Magnus.

“Tell me about these celebrations,” he says, watching Magnus light up and grin. “I can’t suppose they were sober affairs?”

“You wish,” Magnus smirks, and launches into an animated tale of his first (of many) sword fights with drunken Seelies.

He feels, for the first time, hope unfurling in his chest. Hope that Magnus would be here to watch him change. That he’d stay until Alec figured out the mess in his mind and then stay some more.

Alec leans back, pulling Magnus with him. Hope was such a new feeling for him that he couldn’t help smiling.

He hoped it was here to stay.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How great was that season premiere? I'm so glad sh is back. Also, feel free to send in prompts at my tumblr.


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